The Bullworth Retrospection Tale
by HundredAcreWood
Summary: Have you ever wondered what goes on in someone's mind, when they look at you? Do their words, their expressions, give away what their thoughts want to convey? Is happiness an illusion, is sorrow permanent? Welcome to The Bullworth Retrospection Tale, where each character narrates their own story, their own life, their own questions and their own answers. What's yours?
1. 1

Edgar took a deep drag from the cigarette he held between his fingers.

He exhaled, and as he blew out, Blue Skies Industrial Park came into view ; its shabby buildings, with the paint peeling off their wall, lowlifes and hobos sitting at sidewalks and abandoned workers bustling in and out of their workstations.

He breathed in once again, but all he wanted to do was breathe out. He wanted to breathe out this life he was living; he was seventeen, and he was not schooled. He could count, but he could not calculate; he could speak, but he could not spell; he could read and write, but he could not understand a few words, and that would ruin the entire experience of literacy.

He felt like a tramp. Maybe he was one. But was it really his fault?

His parents could not afford primary education for their son. Was it their fault?

No.

He always maintained that some people are just born less fortunate. He was one of those few.

But he was not the only one. There were so many others who could not study at the only school in the city, either due to lack of money or due to expulsion on the most ridiculous of grounds. And sometimes, unreasonable too.

Bullworth Academy.

He thought of that building and sighed.

He was a student there once, yes. Oh, he was. When he was but a toddler. He loved school. He learnt so many things there.

And then one day, he was called to the principal's office. A letter was handed over to him, and he was told to give it to his parents.

That night, he saw both his parents cry for the first time.

He could comprehend absolutely nothing, except for the fact that he did not have to get up early the next morning and go to school. He did not mind getting up early, he had said, but he was sent to his room.

And for the next few years he loitered around Blue Skies Industrial Park, playing with the dogs that ran around and making imaginary friends.

He made a lot of friends in the neighbourhood, and was shocked to find so many people just like him, so many people who could not go to school. But somehow, they did not mind much.

He did.

He missed school.

Every minute of it.

When he was around ten or eleven, he followed Zoe to school. Zoe was one of his best friends. They played together every evening. The only problem was that she had to leave slightly early, because she had to complete her homework and go to sleep.

She was a student at Bullworth Academy.

He followed her into the main school building. She did not realize. He got a lot of weird looks from the students, but he did not mind. He loved the place.

He could not follow her into the classrooms, so he roamed around the campus, evading the prefects. At lunchtime, she spotted him and came running to him, and asked him what he was doing there.

"I want to study," said Edgar.

"But you're not allowed in here. They'll punish you and your parents if they find you here."

Edgar felt tears well up in his eyes, and he hugged Zoe. Zoe reciprocated gently, and was surprised to find her eyes moist, too. But she had a plan.

"Sneak into the Girls' Dorm at 3:30 every day. Make your way, stealthily, through the halls to Mandy's room. Enter it and hid in the cupboard. We both will teach you every evening."

Mandy was Zoe's best friend. She stayed in the Girls' Dorm, and Zoe would spend a night there sometimes, and they both would talk about everything in general.

Mandy had heard a lot about Edgar, and took great pleasure in teaching him with Zoe. He was a year older, and it saddened Mandy to see that such a bright boy could not afford education. Many a time, Zoe would tell her about the struggles her parents are going through to pay for her education, and Mandy considered herself very lucky.

The trio were caught one day. The matron walked right into the room, and before Edgar had time to hide like he always did, she found the two girls teaching him. They were marched to the principal's office, and received a stern lecture from him.

Zoe and Mandy were let off with a very strict warning, but Edgar was not. A boy had been found in the Girls' Dorm. That night, the principal himself came to Edgar's house, with two policemen. He emotionally tortured his parents, threatening to get both of them arrested for their son's "crime", and that if their son was found anywhere around the campus, he would definitely take very serious action. He then left.

Edgar breathed out another cloud of smoke, and was surprised to see that the tears that fell were as heavy as the ones that were shed that fateful night.

It was that night when, Edgar felt, he had become a man.

The leader within him bloomed. Very soon, he headed the gang of dropouts that lived in the Blue Skies Industrial Area. He represented the oppressed, the downtrodden, the unfortunate.

But deep within, he still loved school. He loved everything about it – right from the subjects that were taught to the feel of sitting down on a bench in a classroom.

He just didn't like Bullworth Academy.


	2. 2

Derby Harrington was rich.

But did that really matter?

He sat in the balcony of his mansion in Old Bullworth Vale, a glass of blended scotch whiskey in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He would take a sip and a drag from time to time, and he stare grimly into the distance.

He was rich. He had everything. He could do whatever he wanted to in the school; he would always be excused. He was going to marry his beautiful cousin, and keep up what his family called "tradition." He had a bunch of friends who, though slightly lower than his, had a very, very respectable status.

But what was all that worth?

It's strange the way a humbled mind thinks. Jimmy had defeated him twice, and boy had he learnt to respect him. Sure, he may have come from a family that was no so well-off, and he may have been unruly, but he sure knew the difference between right and wrong. And Derby, being a good leader, appreciated a fellow leader when he saw one.

But, back to the humbled mind. Derby had begun to question the Prep cause after their fall. Was being snobbish, arrogant and condescending to everyone, just because they were poor, really what defined a group of kids who had derived their status from their parents' wealth? The fact that whatever Derby was, was only because of the wealth he inherited from his rich parents troubled him many a time. You see, he was a man of principle, though not many knew it. His vanity had, however, completely overshadowed the better part of him, and this led to many people thinking that he was a spoiled brat, including some of the Preppies.

That evening he sat in his balcony, drinking and smoking, wondering whether he was right all this time. And what burnt him the most was that he knew he wasn't.

Though he did not want to think of them, not because they were poor, but because they would make him feel worse about himself, his mind kept wandering to the Greasers. More so, the torture inflicted by the Preps on the Greasers. It did occur to Derby that most of the time, it was the Preps who had instigated the Greasers. The latter had been called poor, slum-dwellers, worthless, scum of the Earth, and what not.

Did they deserve it?

They had been egged, punched, kicked, made to bleed….were they asking for it? Or had they been given it, without any valid reason?

Their territory had been invaded, their Tenements had been smashed, their cycles had been damaged….could they afford to repair all of them? And for once, Derby did not mean that statement in a condescending way.

They were just young adults, like Derby and the rest. But they had been going through poverty right from their birth, unlike Derby and the rest. They deserved a good childhood and adolescent period too, just like Derby and the rest. But were they getting it?

Were the Preps making life any easier for their Bullworth counterparts?

The Preps could literally buy happiness. The Greasers couldn't.

Could the Preps share?

The living room of Derby's house was filled with the sound of glass shattering. Derby had flung his glass of scotch behind, at it had hit a wall; the scotch now dripped from a mantelpiece.

He got up and stubbed the cigarette. Then he cried.

Derby Harrington seldom cried. He was, after all, supposed to be heartless. But that's where everybody was wrong.

Derby Harrington had a heart.

Sure, it may have been gold-plated and all. But he had a heart. And as he looked into the past, he realized that he had not used that heart.

He had money, he had class, he had everything he could have wished for. But what was the point?

He had tortured a class of people who were not as fortunate as him. And that was wrong.

He respected people who had a clear sense of the right and wrong. How could he have been so blinded by his wealth?

He was so delusional, so engrossed in material pleasures, so lost in his supposed grandeur, that he could not see what he was destroying.

He was supposed to help the poor. Not torture them.

Derby felt like an animal. But an animal has emotions. Derby felt like he didn't have them.

He cried and cried.

Was it the scotch, the cigarette that made him feel this way?

He knew it was not.

This is what he had wanted to do for a long time. But couldn't.

He was, after all, the head of the snobs.

After what seemed like ages, Derby got off the floor. The sky now was dark, and a cold breeze was blowing. He walked into the living room, which still smelled of scotch, and shut the door of the balcony behind him.

He walked up to the mirror, and looked at himself. He used to look at the mirror every morning to see if he was dressed properly. He had, after all, a reputation to protect.

But that evening, he saw someone else. Someone with red eyes and dishevelled hair. Someone who seemed wiser than the blockhead he was used to seeing every morning.

He saw the other Derby Harrington.

He knew what he had to do. It did not seem tough anymore. He knew he was up to the task.

He knew he had to meet Johnny Vincent.


	3. 3

Johnny Vincent felt helpless.

He felt helpless as he clutched Peanut's hand.

He felt helpless when he felt his temperature.

He felt helpless when he saw him try to mask the pain he was going through with a smile.

He felt helpless when he thought of all that Peanut had done for him.

What is a leader, without his subjects? Johnny Vincent probably was one of the best clique leaders Bullworth would ever see, but he knew that it was his loyal following that

actually motivated him to be better than he was.

He also knew that he had taken this loyal following for granted more than once.

They all hero-worshipped him, and he had gone and thrown his life away. And even while he threw it away, he knew the cause.

Lola.

Now, Johnny respected women, and it was this admirable trait of his, among many others, that made him a fan-favourite, and he cringed every time he _did_ curse her, but as he

held onto Peanut's almost limp hand, he knew he had messed up.

He knew he should have spent more time with his boys than chasing something he should have known he never would get.

Did he still love Lola?

Yes, he did.

Would he still try to win her unadulterated affection?

Probably.

But as he sat by Peanut, was Lola even on his mind?

No.

She was not.

All that mattered was his friend, his comrade, his brother – in – arms, Larry "Peanut" Romano.

Johnny sat by him, eyes swollen and red, hair in a complete mess, staring into the distance. He was what they nowadays call "a hot mess."

But he knew he was a mess.

He felt he had messed up.

Of course, Peanut was not going to tell him that he was not well.

Of course, Peanut would shrug off concerns from the Greasers saying that he was just feeling under the weather.

Of course, Peanut thought it would trouble Johnny, and he did not want to trouble Johnny.

Why should he?

Peanut would never do such a thing.

Johnny wished he had noticed before.

Johnny wished it was not too late.

Johnny wished he would see the old Peanut again.

Johnny also wished death upon the Preppies.

* * *

When Johnny had come to know about Peanut's illness, he also had come to know that the treatment would cost a lot.

But they were Greasers.

Where would they get the money from?

Bullworth Academy?

Johnny scoffed to himself as he thought about it.

They had refused straightaway.

There was another option, and it was the last. But it was also the most impractical.

The Preppies.

They had money, didn't they?

Could Johnny ask the Preppies?

Peanut's life was at stake. Of course he would.

Johnny was a good leader. And he was also a good friend.

* * *

And so, he had swallowed whatever little self-respect he had kept for himself and had gone knocking at the door of Harrington House.

The door had opened, and the sight of the Aquaberry clothed inmates had made him want to turn and walk away, but Peanut was ill.

He had looked them square in the eye, and had asked them if they could fund Peanut's treatment.

He could make out that they were about to scoff and snicker, but when they saw his serious face, they decided against it.

They then said that they would need to talk about it amongst themselves, and that they would personally come to New Coventry to inform Johnny about their decision.

Oh, they came.

And they informed.

In the form of a tag outside The Tenements that read – "We can offer Peanuts, but that's about it."

* * *

Back in the present, Johnny felt himself shake. With anger. With wrath. With fury.

He could have killed the Preps. All of them. Specifically one.

Derby Harrington.

Now, Johnny was good leader, and he knew a good leader when he saw one.

Though he would never admit it to anyone, he saw something in Derby Harrington.

He saw anguish, deep down within him. When they fought, he felt that Derby did not really want to fight. When they passed jabs at each other, he felt that Derby Harrington

secretly did not detest the Greasers as much as everyone thought they did.

Heart of hearts, Johnny expected Derby to help him.

After all, he thought he was a good leader.

* * *

The writer of this fanfiction feels now would be the time to intervene, and explain to the gentle reader, that Derby Harrington was not told about the entire "Sick Peanut" fiasco.

The Preppies who had answered the door, when Johnny had knocked, were Tad, Gord and Chad. And they felt that it would be safe to keep this discussion, and take a decision,

within them.

They did not want to help the Greasers.

The Greasers, after all, were poor.

The Preppies did not want to have to do anything with them.

The trio took a collective decision to not tell either Derby or Bif about the incident. For they knew the two may want to help the Greasers.

And since these three were lower in the hierarchy, they would not be able to do anything about it.

And so, the three had snuck out one night to tag the wall outside The Tenements.

The Greasers were livid.

And shattered.

* * *

And so, a critically ill Peanut lay in a bed in a makeshift hospital in New Coventry, with Johnny Vincent by his side. The latter had neither eaten nor slept for many hours. The

Greasers knew it was not wise to antagonize Johnny in this state, for they knew he would blow his top if they asked him to eat or drink something. So they grieved with him.

And nothing else.

Johnny sat by Peanut. He held his friend's hand, and stared into the distance. And all he thought about was how he was going to kill Derby Harrington.

* * *

Dear Reader,

Hi, and thank you so much! The fact that you decided to read this slightly unorthodox story really means a lot to me! So, thank you once again!

I really hope you all are finding the story satisfactory, and moreover, enjoying it. It gives me a lot of pleasure to see the number of reads and reviews increase bit by bit. Do

critique this story; I would love to know my strong points, where I can improve, and anything and everything in general.

Since this story deals with a lot of dark themes, I would also like to say - anybody out there who is going through a rough phase in life right now and needs to talk, I'm there. We

all are there. Please talk to us, share with us and lighten the burden you are carrying. You are not in this all by yourself. You are not waking alone. That's what defines humanity,

and in a world where problems beyond our control affect us so deeply, let us not let the problems under our control affect us too.

Once again, thank you so much for clicking onto the story! Hope to see you again in the forthcoming chapters! Happy reading!

Love and Regards,

HundredAcreWood.


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